


For the last time.

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:34:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's quiet and Tony takes to tapping the wheel with his fingers, waiting. "You were going to let him die," Tony doesn't say anything, but his body tenses. He drops one hand off the wheel, rubbing the bridge of his nose. </p><p>"I know but I didn't." Tony turns to look at Steve, his face pleading silently for him to understand but by the thin frown line on his lips, and the missing warmth of his eyes. It's clear, he doesn't.</p><p>"Humanity," Steve leans back on the leather chair. Blue eyes meeting Tony's. "Humanity, Tony"</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, I kinda wrote this as a free write, and I have a general idea of where this is going. Basically, The Biters are Zombies, but the word Zombie doesn't exist in this world, better yet, think of a Walking Dead Universe as kind of the setting. So yeah, I guess I'm rambling, so I'm going to let you read XD

Tony thinks about it more than he should. He thinks about the screams, the yells, the blood and the gore when the world went crashing down a few months before. He ponders about it the way he thinks about his mother, Howard, the others and the dead, the killers, the Biters - whatever you wish to call them. They're in the same boat, he presumes or he hopes, because if he loses his mind here, then he’s finished, no one to save him and no one to risk their life. That shouldn’t soothe him, that shouldn’t fucking soothe him. 

But it does.

And that makes him cry, he doesn’t have to worry about anyone judging the once most famous nineteen-year-old heir to the world. He never has to now anyway, he travels alone or with his backpacks if you count that. He nicknamed it Jarvis and sometimes (although he’s embarrassed about it) he talks to it. Small things here and there, but it keeps him sane. That and the liquor.

He drops his knife on the living room bar, and the rest of his weapons too in this person's empty house. They catch the drifting overhead lighting perfectly, the specks of auburn and black dried over and the hilt wore down with use. He used his collections of knives today, on five of them outside and one stuck in the middle of a shower. It made him giggle- for a second- like a high school girl (He was nineteen after all) but then he remembers the Biters, shuffling their way outside and he covers his mouth with his hand and ends up covering the bone dead lady with a towel.

He rolls his hands back up with the leftovers of his shirt, and he glares at the bruising on his knuckles before raiding this person's poorly stocked bar. He finds a half empty bottle of whiskey, vodka and some drink that smells like sour coconuts but he tosses that one out the window, determining it for useless and expired. He doesn’t know what to make of what he has in his hands , and he slumps down on the floor. 

He tugs the caps open for both, a smooth movement that reminds him of the way his mother would take the cookies out of the oven. He thinks about the way his eyes are sinking underneath his skin. The way his mother had screamed hopeless and afraid when the bullet tore her left cheek open. He thinks the way the bone protruded, missing eye-socket, lady upstairs could have been her, how the lady upstairs managed to represent half of the world population nowadays. Then he takes the sip, from the vodka then the whiskey and it burns his lips, the inside of his throat and it makes his chest curl and he knows those two aren’t meant to be mixed, not like this. 

He takes another through, then another, and another, till he can’t see the overhead lights anymore, or feel both bottles slip from his fingers and land so loud and daring. He takes another sip ]till he can’t hear the shuffling and banging outside the houses fence. And another, till he swears he hears his mother’s voice, soft and sweet-

“Tony,”

-O- 

He wakes to a gunshot, then a loud curse and a bang. He’s up- faster than he gives himself credit for, and he’s unsheathing his knife, his only weapon before maneuvering himself outside the window. The room’s dark, too dark and he hits his feet on the edge of something maybe a couch that he pushed to block the doorway. The Biters are shuffling and the small sounds that they make when they move - a crinkle of bones hitting each other- rings his ears. He thinks about peeking, a small one to satisfy whatever child-like curiosity that he must feel. But he doesn’t, he can’t. To risky. Besides if the person’s stupid enough to shot at this time at night, they deserve to die, right? There's another bang, and his knuckles are starting to turn white over the leather hilt. 

“Someone help me!” The voice is stern and although he can’t determine who it belongs to, it makes his body ooze into a puddle. It sounds so desperate and he tenses hiding his face almost deeper into his jacket that he stole from one of the drawers upstairs. “Hey!“ 

Tony freezes or he likes to believe he does. He likes to believe a lot of desperate things nowadays like he must be a hero, knowing that he made it so far, so unbelievably far that it’s uncanny. He likes to believe it was his smart decisions, his quick thinking, his high- IQ- anything really that did it for him. But, he knows as Howard would love to say, sometimes what you believe is not always the right thing.

So he’s tugging the chair from the knob in the doorway, then the couch to the left and he’s cursing and pounding in his head. Stupid, don’t be so fucking stupid. But he is, oh god, he is and he creaks the door open just a little. Letting whatever silver dust of moonlight hit the hilt of his knife. They don’t see him, not yet and he’s grateful, but a figure does. The Biters as he calls them are dancing outside the fence, all swarming and gnawing close to where the figure stood in the air with their teeth. Tony see’s blonde, and nothing more but the glint of a gun. He prays he doesn’t shot, no need to attract more and the figure doesn’t instead knock one back with a little force of the gun's butt. His movement is angelic and Tony transfixed, the burliness of his body and the looming height should have made that impossible, but he reminds himself, he lives in a world made from impossibilities. 

He motions him faster, and he watches the blond hops past the fence so eagerly and the others impale themselves with the metal ridges of the spine. He realizes the blond has blue eyes when he opens the door more to let him, and he realizes that his jawline is so strong that Tony wanted to imagine him doing freaky almost unholy things to him when the blonde tumbles in rubbing loose blood on its neck. He closes it sharply, watching more and more impale themselves on the leftover fence. It would hold, it looked sturdy for such a small crowd but Tony knew better, more was coming, they always attracted more.

He pushes the wooden chair back to the doorknob and he’s working on the couch when he hears the blond panting slow to a crawl. “Thank you,”

Tony turns, whipping whatever sweat is beginning to bead on his neck. He stifles whatever panic is growing, with sarcasm, with words that have no meaning “Don’t thank me, thank the vodka” The blonde lips twitch or so he thinks before Tony motions to the blood that's drying up on his body. “Were you bit?”

It’s a question that became as simple as a hello, and although he hates the harshness, the grit of the word. He feels an odd release when the guy shakes his head, shifting on the ground. “No, I killed whatever came close.” 

“Yeah, I know the gunshots woke me up.”

“I lost my gun now,” He lips twitch sheepishly at him, and he stops to rub his neck and look at the ground “Dropped it during the scuffle.”

Tony blinks, or he presumes he does. He motions for the blonde, to sit, to get comfortable, to do something that would lessen the jumping of his almost child-like nerve. He turns, walking to the kitchen, he hasn't put his knife back and Jarvis still sits comfortably on his back like a child. "Are you hungry, Blondie?" 

The blonde is quiet, letting the rasping of the Biters, the dread of his footsteps, and the heavy breathing of them filling the emptiness of the room. He tugs open the cabinets, anything within the fridge is already expired, and he searches, pulling and thrusting seasoning and dried food not worth eating out on the table.

"My name is Steve-" The words are breathy, and Tony turns to the blonde -Steve - sitting on the edge of the couch with his head in his hands. "It's Steve."

"Okay Steve, I'm Tony " Tony pulls out a packet of peanut butter and he put it to the hanging light to check the expiration date. "Are you Hungry?"

\---

He makes a peanut butter sandwich quicker then he thought he could and he's proud of that, childishly proud. And he smiles when he takes a bite, feeling his jaw work and his teeth grinding. He hasn't eaten in a while, and he's sure Steve hasn't either since he's already on his third. He thinks about maybe stopping him, maybe pushing the plate away from the big guy but he doesn't, who know how long he had been out there? Who know how long he was running? So, Tony placed his crust on the plate he had taken from the kitchen and tugs his feet on the banister of the stairwell. 

"So," Tony breathes the words like a child, Steve pauses mid-bite, glancing at Tony through his eyelashes and Tony hides the gulp of the air lodged in his throat. "How did you get here?"

Steve doesn't respond right away, and Tony's thoughts go awry, maybe he asked the wrong thing, he didn't think before he spoke and although that happens more times than necessary, he's working on it. Or as much as you could work on it, in an apocalypse. "You don't have to respond if you don't want to," 

"It's not that," Steve frowns and takes another bite of his sandwich. "I think you have a right to know considering what you did for me."

Tony shrugs, or at least he tries to. His backpack feels thirty times bigger and heavier and he tips it off onto the ground. "Don't mention it," He clears his throat, covering his lips with his hands. "I know sometimes it could be a hard question,"

And yes, Tony supposes that he does know that. He doesn't sleep very often, not unless his hands are accompanied by a knife blade (His gun had long ago ran out of bullets) and a whiskey bottle. He could survive out there like a robot can, kill, move, eat, sleep and then rinse and repeat. He doesn't know what to make of it much if he was particularly honest with himself.

Steve shakes his head, blonde hair and all. "It's not that." 

Tony pulls himself higher like a Stark man would and Steve's rubs the back of his neck, "I just don't know where to start."

Oh. Steve glances around the barely even lit room and brushes his fingertips against the wooden steps. He winces a couple times, and he can't blame him, the raspy throat clearing sounds outside are growing, distinguishing and moving. Tony thinks about resting his hand on his shoulder, tell him he's not alone but he doesn't.

"I got lost," Tony blinks, and Steve doesn't seem to notice because he's busy continuing. "I found a map a couple ways back. Talked of a sanctuary for all who comes."

He leaned forward, the edges of the plate brushing beneath him. Steve looks back at him, the dust and dirt fawning his cheekbones and the cake of blood on his left temple, and Tony looks away. Steve seemed to be through enough, or at least it seemed that way. "Do you think a place like that exists?" 

Steve shrugs, "I'd hope so. People couldn't just lose their humanity that fast, could they? Thier must be villages, homes, sanctuaries."'

Tony doesn't respond, and well, he can't say he knows how. He want's to say so many things, like there is no humanity, there's survival and then there's death. But he doesn't, not yet. 

-o-

Tony peers out the window, and although his view is constricted, he sees the Biters shambling among themselves etching closer the to outskirts of the woods, lessening out of curiosity. He doesn't understand them, these Biters, they fought in waves for their food, even tumbling among themselves in dire situations, not out of self-preservation, he'd seen a couple turn among themselves and rip bones and skin in order to get closer, no this had to be for something else. He sat down on the child's bed underneath him,rubbing his chin and the stubble that's growing on it.

There's enough for him to reevaluate his plans to make a run for it, but not enough to actually stall him. He hears the door creak open, and Tony doesn't turn, but he nods enough to knows he listening. "I think we could make a run for it," 

He's still staring out the window, watching them crawl faster away when he hears Steve's response. "We?"

Tony feels his cheeks blaze with heat, or at least he thinks it could. "I mean- I guess-" Tony turns, and although Steve is staring at him, a blue shirt and a regular pair of jeans covering his figure and a knife blade that he must have stolen from the kitchen safely tucked in his leather belt. He looks away, chiding himself with why he thought Steve would want to stay, you don't do that here, not in this world. You can't trust and be trusted.

"No, No," Steve sits down on the bed, looking out the window with him. "I want to stay with you." He pauses and looks Tony in the eye's, a smirk gracing his lips. "Saftey in numbers, right?"

Tony smiles, and Steve flushes keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. "I just thought, you would want to split up, get half going one way and then the other half the other way. "

Tony frowns, running a hand through his hair. "No, wouldn't work." He doesn't mention the fact that's he's not that heartless. He points to the narrowing of the fence, a small hole that seemed to be falling on its own "I wouldn't say we have much time to go and split up. Besides, that could attract more, bigger numbers equal more problems. I'd say we take out as many as we can on that side, quietly."

Steve nodded, "What about the gun I dropped?"

"Did it have any more bullets?" 

Steve eyebrows furrowed, and a thin line fixed itself on his forehead. "No," He says slowly, pushing out the O, more than the N. "I think I used them all." 

Tony rubbed the edge of his temple, grabbing Jarvis from the floor beside him. "Then we leave it there. Too much of a danger to go and grab it."

-o-  
Tony could live for this, or at least he believes he could. He and Steve, (Such a weird but fascinating name) works as a good team. Steve kills the Biters when they get too close, and Tony makes sure they never do, swallowing in precaution, and tentativeness. It works, like the old cars his father used to make when he was younger. Beautiful but intricate, Unique but complex. He likes this, even if he can’t exactly say what this is.

Steve bumps him on the shoulder with his own when they pass by a car on the road. Thiers no others, and it sits alone, parked as if it was a sacrifice, a goodbye of some sort. The car is black and it reminds him of the merchandises Howard would exclaim as frown upon in the honor of the Stark name."Do you think it still has gas in it?" 

"Maybe. If it does I could hotwire it, that'll solve the not having a key problem." Tony throw the words back casually, covering his eyes at the setting sun. It hits the gravel of the empty road, and the chipping of the white lined paint just right, and he wonders if this is the type of stuff his Aunt Peggy used to go on about when she remembered the olden days. She's lucky, he reminds himself, She died years before the world went to shit.

Steve stares at him for a while, shouldering his own backpack- one they had stolen from the house- before figuring out what he was going to say, "You could do that?"

Tony shrugs, taking the knife from the back of his leather belt. He watches Steve give him a pointed look a;what are you doing? And he shrugs, it's a precaution, it's the limit of risk, it's making sure he could see another day. So he gives the blonde a look, an - I'm making sure I have a tomorrow -look and he treads away as quietly as he could He hopes their gas still in there, his feet is growing sores and blister and his last pair of shoes are running down to just the inside of the soles. They walked through the forest for days now, and a moment, a moment without thrusting a knife into A Biter's brain, a moment without having to be worried about whether this breath would be the last was comforting, a moment without worry. He edges closer, his ears straining.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Tony shrugs, before shaking his head. He needs silence, and well, Steve happened to the be the exact opposite of what he was trying to accomplish, his footsteps happened to be loud and thunderous at times where they didn't need to be, and his monstrous frame was not one for sneaking. And well, he made Tony blush when he needed to be working. 

"No, It's fine," He turns, breathing hard, "If one of them shit falls on me, though, Big guy. I'm giving you permission to go hardcore Superman on them. Like Superman without Batman, hardcore."

"I thought Superman with Batman is more powerful," Tony treads closer to the car, and he doesn't hear anything. not the rasp of the throats or the impromptu bone clashing sound, So he lessens his knife lower to his waist and closer to his backpack.

"Who told you that lie?" The cheeky words leave easily in his mouth, and he pushes open the car door and a little girl with her cheekbone exposed and a missing mouth rolls on the ground next to him. He doesn't scream, not a peep leaves his mouth but he feels himself jumping back and the hilt of his knife imprinting itself on his skin. He hears the heavy footsteps of someone behind him, and he lifts one idle finger. 

"I think she's dead," He winces when he hears his voice crack, and although he should be used to this -he was alone for half of this hell after all, and he's seen enough dead bodies in his hands, and his toes to no longer are useful to count- He's not, and he feels his heart pump in his chest, and his chest tighten. He kicks her in the leg, he'd seen a couple of the Biters fake it till they were close and then bite. But her face doesn't change, and her leg lands in an awkward position and Tony's shifting his feet to make sure he doesn't see her. "And no, I mean actually dead." 

Steve's doesn't say anything, nothing that he's sure he was supposed to hear before following Tony closer then he needs to be. "She's a little girl, Who kills a little girl?" Tony nods, although he's quite sure the word we're not meant for him and he pulls the next door open, expecting someone to fallout, anyone to fall out. But no one does, and he's grateful. He motions for Steve to come closer, and he peeks his head inside, the car is empty (If you don't count the dead girl on the floor,) and it reeks of spoiled eggs and fish, even when there seemed to be none in sight.

"The car's clean." 

"Is it running?" Tony shrugs, tugging both legs inside the driver seat. He glares at the sky for a moment, breathing, small but shallow, his mind there but not really. He could name the make and model of the car, now that he's inside, an old Honda Civic and he thinks, well he hypothesizes that he may be able to run it without a key, he hacked worse and drove better. He turns to Steve, blue eyes against empty brown and motion him to climb inside.

"I think I can run it" He tugs his knife in the keyhole, and for split second, he hears a crack, like the smashing of metal against metal and he's holding his breath, like the times where he was a child and Howard was yelling, pacing, throwing things around what his father must have presumed to be an empty room. But then the car got started, with a small vroom, and then everything lights back on through the collected dust. He feels himself fist pump in the air, and when he glances over at Steve, he's smiling, and not one of those small timid lip twitches, no, one of those big ones that make Tony's throat close and his chest rise.

"Listen, Blondie," Steve smiles grows harder, or at least Tony thinks it does. "You have the driving duty, last night I had watching duty. It's a win/win" 

Tony's climbing in the backseat, and he manages to fall where he hopes the little girl was not. Steve already on the front seat, closing both of the car doors, with checks that're flushing with heat. And although, he doesn't know why. It makes him proud, like a parent proud and he kicks Jarvis off his back, putting his trusty friend Jarvis, on the seat next to him. Tony closes his eyes, leaning harder on the dusty window. "Do you even know how to drive?"

Steve snorts or at least he hopes that's what that sound is. The car is moving, he could feel it by the tumble on the road, and the small hum of the engine. "Do you think I would have said yes to driving duty if I didn't?"

Tony grins, his attention fading to the back of his mind. It smells like the warmth of chocolate cookies that came out of the oven, resulting motor oil on the other side of a car, and oddly peppermint. "Just making sure. I don't want to wake up to the car flipped on the other side of the road."

Steve doesn't say anything, and that doesn't surprise him anymore. He learned a lot about him in the past week, or two, he might have lost count, to be honest with himself. But Steve doesn't really mind silence, and when's he's not talking. He's thinking or that's what he says he's doing, at least. "Go to bed, Tony"

Tony hums, a small rumble in his chest. "Will do, Will do"

-o-  
He wakes to a tapping on his shoulder, like a switch on a clockwork. He groans, swatting it away but it's urgency, it's relentlessness and well, the warmth of it against his skin makes him groan and open his eyes. He registers on the blond first, then the ocean blue of his eyes, then the crooked of his nose, the frown of his lips and then the sound- the bone clashing, teeth pulling sound. He's up and aware, and by the way, Steve narrowly moves to avoid banging his head against Tony's. It must have been fast.

"They haven't seen us yet," Steve's voice ends with a trail in whispers it's soft, but it's there, the moving trembles that cover his lips. Tony nods, or at least his head moves down then up by a couple of inches. "But there's a guy on top of the Truck there" He points to the window, and although Tony can't see much, he could make out an outline, and a- well he's not sure what it is. "and I think he needs our-"

"No." Tony's mouth already framing the words, and although he feels the guilt, the knowings that he was going to leave a man to die, he did nothing, he couldn't see a way out. Last time, there was a house, a shelter, here- they have nothing but woods, blistering feet, more Biters than they could count and the lack of a gun.

"Why not?" Steve's voice is hard, and although he's looking out the window, his muscles are bulging from his shirt, and he's holding that kitchen knife close to him. "You did the same for me. Why not him?"

"Because" He glares through the darkness, and the small banging of the truck fills the empty car. He doesn't know what to say or how to say it. And he supposes he doesn't have to when he feels the door nearest to the blonde banged open with a small creak and Steve was gone.

Tony can't exactly say what compelled him to save him- Steve- for perhaps the second time in the passing weeks. But he does, unsheathing his knife with one hand and rolling out of the car with the other. He follows him, follows the knife marks, and the scrapping sound. A few catch on to him, latch on to him but he doesn't suppose it matters much because not a teeth mark goes near him, he stabs them before hand, sometimes with the blade, others with their own bones.

"Steve!" The blonde doesn't look back at him, and he's not surprised. He's still racing to make it to the truck, ducking and dodging their open hand swipes and killing whatever comes near. Tony breathes hard, the left over soles of his feet hitting the gravel of the pavement.He slides past a few, grabbing the edge of Steve's arm when he moves to take a swipe. "What are you doing?" He's whispering the words. and Steve tugs him off, giving Tony a pitying look.

"I'm going to save him." He kicks off running again, and although Tony right beside him, breathing curse words when one hand got a little too close for comfort .Steve doesn't look back. They make it to the truck in mere seconds, and they could see the guy, short rumpled hair, the face was swollen, a little bit of a beard growing in like both Tony and Steve and a handshaking on a knife blade. 

"Get off the truck! " Steve shouts the words, and Tony kicks himself in the shin when one grabs the back of his jacket. He grabs it by the head, feeling the skin come off with an almost comical wet sound. He let it land on the concrete,bashing the inside of its skull with his shoe . Thier's three more, three more Biters and he curses, a fuck here and a shit there when one tugs on his shirt.

"Get him down!" Tony breaks the first Biter in the head with his hilt, feeling the blood squirt out and a piece of bone lodged out of its socket. He throws it on the floor beside him, eyeing the last two. "I could take them, just get him down."

He takes the last two down quickly, a few scrapes on his half sure, but nothing ultimately too serious. He pulls out the knife blade on the last, when he hears a soft squelching sound from someone's footsteps. He turns, whipping the last of the blood from on his pants, Steve walks by him to the car, dropping the bloody guy in the seat. He's face seems ashen, and he's clutching something with his fingertips. 

Steve lifts the bandages tenderly, "Were you the bit, both of you?" Tony shakes his head, watching the shambling of legs grow closer to the car. The new guy pulls his swollen face over to meet Steve, and he shakes his head.

"No," The words leave the new guys mouth shakily and Tony doesn't wait instead hopping in the front, slamming the car door. The sign is universal, get your ass in the car before I leave and Steve nods, taking a seat in the back next to him.

"Do you want to tell me your name?" 

The guy nod or Tony thinks he's nodding because his neck is three times larger than he supposes it should be."Bruce," and his words slur together through a hooked lip. "They call me Bruce."

-o-

Bruce is more of a quiet sort than others, he doesn't speak and when he does, he's answering a question one of them (mostly Steve, though) asks. Tony doesn't know what to make of it, two quiet people in one car ride. He's not a big fan of silence or Biters or putting his life in danger, he just can't see any appeal in it all.

"What was the difference?" Steve's voice is gravelly as he climbs on the front of the car and Tony slides to the left when a leg almost hits his face. He hums in a response, a please repeat sound stuck in his throat. "What was the difference?" 

Tony takes a hand off the wheel and his eyes peer at the dosing figure in the backseat. "It was just," His voice is breathy but he continues rumbling down the road. "It was just a lot of them, and we have knives. Knives, not guns."

Steve's quiet and Tony takes to tapping the wheel with his fingers, waiting. "You were going to let him die," Tony doesn't say anything, but his body tenses. He drops one hand off the wheel, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

"I know but I didn't." Tony turns to look at Steve, his face pleading silently for him to understand but by the thin frown line on his lips, and the missing warmth of his eyes. It's clear, he doesn't.

"Humanity," Steve leans back on the leather chair. Blue eyes meeting Tony's. "Humanity, Tony"

**Author's Note:**

> If you read all the way to the end, thanks for reading, if you read to the middle, well still thanks for reading. Here is my Tumblr if you guys want to drop an ask and talk about Stony, or any Marvel ship really. http://yellowdandalionsandredlips.tumblr.com/


End file.
